


Possession

by elvhenphoenix



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Demons, Dreams, Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, Fade, Possession, Skye Lavellan, Spirits
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-02 08:09:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5240993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elvhenphoenix/pseuds/elvhenphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She is scarred from Adamant, and Nightmare will not leave her be. He will claim her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nightmare

She wakes suddenly, heart hammering, eyes flickering with fear. The room has grown dark, the fire sleeping in its bed, and the shadows bring back the remnants of her nightmare. The Fade did not welcome her, and it continues to chase her through reality like a hungry beast. Her companion wakens, startled, sees her fleeing to the stars outside. ‘Vhenan!’

He is there beside her, urgent, worried, and she doesn’t seem to recognise him. In her eyes he sees the Dreaming, still hanging like misted rags, wreathing her in misery. She shivers in the cool wind, and he moves closer, asking permission to hold her in his arms. Tears are in her eyes and on her cheeks, and he feels them on his chest. ‘They’re getting worse,’ she whispers against his skin. The nightmares. He knows.

He's seen her shift in restless sleep before, and always when he tries to help he’s pushed away. Forced to watch, from distant dreams, as she battles with her fears. She tries to be strong, tries to beat them down – but sometimes, like tonight, she can’t, and feels them lying heavy on her brow for hours more.

‘I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t choose – I couldn’t choose again.’ She weeps, heaving sobs as she collapses in his arms. He holds her, tight against him, giving her his strength.

‘Vhenan, I am here, and you are here, and this is what is real. It was nothing more than a dream, vhenan, I swear.’

He has to bring her back, has to shake the remnants of the dream from her however he can. She pulls away, beautiful tear-filled eyes staring into his as he leans down, presses his lips to hers. The first time he kissed her, she was his saving grace, an unlikely reality in this world that had changed and frightened him so. Now, she clings to him, begging him to chase away the dream for her. He has become her solace, her comfort, and he will drive away anything to protect her. The realisation hits him hard.

‘He is scared for you.’

It’s a whisper from the pale-haired boy, as he emerges from the shadows themselves, melting into existence with the glimmer of moonlight. She looks at the boy, startled, then tilts her head to look at him. ‘Kill the knife-ears, he shouted, but you killed him first.’ The ghost is satisfied. ‘You call the storm and it strikes him in the heart. It feels right.’ The boy looks at him, next. ‘You will protect her. But who will protect you?’

He takes a step back, back into his world where the shadows and the dreams bleed into one another, and vanishes. He looks down at her, standing still, drawn of face, and he holds her closer for a heartbeat. ‘You need warmth.’ It is a whisper, but she hears him, and the idea of a fire sends a spark into her eyes. She nods, and he guides her back inside, settling her gently on the low sofa, and fetching a woollen blanket from atop her bed to tuck around her.

With a wave of his hand, a thread of magic is pulled from the air, and he sends it to the fireplace, awakening the long-cold embers that still rest there. The fire burns, brightly, and it casts strange shadows on her face. She is tired, hollowed out from within, the Dreaming still clinging to her with steel talons, and he rests beside her. She is quiet, still, and for a moment he thinks to leave. Perhaps the Dreaming will not take her a second time.

‘Stay.’ It is a whisper, almost pulled unwillingly from her, but she asks for him, eyes pleading, frightened of the loneliness sleep may bring. He is needed. And he will stay. As long as he can, he will stay.


	2. Choice

She wakes in the morning, still nestled in his arms, with a start, jolted from the Fade after her worst night of sleep so far. Adamant rests in her mind's eye, and the screaming memory of Nightmare makes her flinch. As she moves, her companion wakes, his blue eyes opening slowly.

'Good morning.' It is murmured with a lazy smile, and he sits up, resting a hand gently on her shoulder. 'How are you feeling?'

Nightmare is still fresh in her mind, and she can't quite meet his eyes. Instead, she leans forward, kissing him softly on the cheek.

'Don't worry yourself so, Solas.' Her face is gentle, although her eyes are sad, and she stands, moving to her dresser and rifling through its contents, searching for something warm to keep away the chill.

He is not convinced. She has no wish to discuss the events of last night, that much is clear, but still. He worries. As she searches, he leans back against the cushions, watching her slim form. Concern creeps into his face. She looks so pale, so tired, he muses, the shadows under her eyes growing worse with each passing sunrise. It is no longer merely him who has noticed - others within the Inquisition have commented on her tired state of being, have enquired, gently, into the wellbeing of their Inquisitors. But what answers does he possess? She still closes her mind to him when fighting the nightmares - but nightmares, after Adamant, have been tainted with the harsh reality of what the Fade is like, and more than once Solas has come to her rescue when she has exhausted her arsenal.

'Vhenan.' She stills. 'Please.' It is a gentle coaxing, and he sees her twisting fabric in her hands. She makes a noise, and then she turns around, facing him, eyes beginning to brighten with a sudden threat of tears.

'Have you ever had to make a choice,' she asks him, 'Which would change everything you ever knew?'

He stares at her, his stomach tightening in shock. She couldn't possibly know the secrets he carries, and as he looks at her there comes a sudden desire to laugh, bubbling up his throat. With effort, he contains it, swallowing it back down.

'I may have,' he admits, 'But I was not in a position to see the consequences of such a choice.' She looks down at her hands, clenching her shaking fingers together.

'Did you lose someone you loved because of it?'

The question makes him pause, looking at her in confusion and concern. 'Because of my actions, I lost many people I cared about,' he answers with care. 'Hope remains that my mistakes can be undone, however.' It's the wrong thing to say. The answers send a furrow to her brow, and he can sense the sadness that weighs her down.

'You should be so lucky,' she whispers, her voice choking with unspent sobs, 'To think that you can change your choice.' It's as if the final piece of the puzzle sets into play, and he brightens with understanding.

'Your nightmare,' he says to her gently. 'May I assume it required the making of such a choice?' She nods, tears beginning to spill onto her nightclothes, covering her mouth with her hand as the memory washes over her once more.

Instantly, he moves to her, holding her against him as she cries, again, his hands rubbing comforting circles on the small of her back. They stand together for minutes, until she gathers herself, and pulls back, looking up at him in a position not dissimilar to the events that last night found them both in. She shapes a word with her lips, and it takes two or three tries to say the words aloud, her aura of despair growing with each heartbeat.

'My parents,' she whispers eventually, and Solas feels his heart curl in his chest at her sorrow.

'The ones you lost,' he answers, and she nods.

'We were a nomad family, in the Free Marches.' He cannot recall many stories about her childhood; at least, only a few stories that are not about her place within Clan Lavellan, and her curious avoidance of the topic of her youth suddenly becomes a lot clearer.

'What happened?' he asks, and he sees pain filtering into the corners of her eyes.

'Shems attacked us,' she whispers. 'They killed my mother first. And then they tried to take my sister away.' Ah. The indomitable Ath'dhea, who he considers lucky to have only met once. The girl is a true 'Dalish', he thinks, wild and fierce and chaotic in a way her older sister has never seemed. 'I was being held. Father was being beaten, curling on the ground in pain. Ath…Ath was frightened, trying to outrun these monsters who hurt us and hunted her.' The corner of her mouth curls as she watches the memory through glazed eyes, and he starts as her eyes darken around the rims.

The spirit's words are brought to mind.

''You call the storm and it strikes him in the heart',' he remembers. She jolts out of her reverie, and nods.

'The first time I knew I had magic, the first time I used my magic, and I used it to rip his heart out of his chest.' The admission makes her shiver, and he has to close his eyes for a moment, reconciling the image of his brave and kind Skye with the embittered elfling child, her powers growing beyond control and marking her first kill. It's somewhat frightening.

'And the choice?' He hardly dares to ask, and yet his curiosity knows no bounds, makes him seek further knowledge of her, further fragments of this fragile elf he holds so close. She pulls away, turns to feel the sunlight resting on her face as it streams in through a window.

'Save my father. Or save my sister.'

For a moment, it hangs in the air between them, the unspoken choice that changed her life irrevocably. He doesn't need to ask which choice she made.

'Ir abelas, vhenan.'

She turns back to face him, whirling. 'Speak no more of it, emma lath. I certainly won't.' She moves away, again, and for a moment he sees something in her eyes, like a crack in a window, as the pain she fights so hard to hide begins to show once more.


	3. Pain

There is wind in the trees, and the leaves shiver and ripple. There are children laughing, and from quivering, wrinkled lips come remnants of broken elvish, sung softly and left to float into the sky. She is home again, safe, warm, at peace. In the distance, two figures, blurred with memory, gesture towards her.

In front of her, her sister holds out her hand. ‘Take my hand, sister, and you can come home.’

She is so tired, and so afraid. Adamant had taken much from her, stripped her fears bare for all to see. She had faced Nightmare himself, and lived. Yet when the sun disappears, she still shivers and shies away from the shadows. The dreams have not stopped, have grinded her down until she is but a fraction of who she was. Once or twice, she has woken to see Cole, staring at her in worry. He is so desperate to help, yet, in his own words the Anchor burned too bright; it obliterates all else of her figure. He can’t help her. No one can.

All she wants to do is go home. She is beaten, broken, and her sister seems to know it. ‘It will be over soon, sister. Take my hand, and you will be home, with me. You’ll never have to leave the clan again. You'll never have to leave _me, our parents_ , again.’

Skye looks at her sister, and she feels peace. This is where she wants to be. Slowly, she extends her hand, and the demon who wears her sister’s face smiles, grasping her hand with its claw.

It’s the wrong choice. With the shaking of a hand, she falls, drowning in the darkness that surrounds her, tries to choke the life from her. She can’t fight it, although she tries, and when the demon laughs she begins to cry. ‘You’re mine now,’ it tells her, and thick tendrils of black smoke coil around her wrists, chaining her to the floor it creates.

Iron bars spring up around her and meet at the top, creating a gilded cage. She strains against the chains, and the demon rumbles again with laughter. ‘Did you not ask for this?’ it tells her. ‘Did you not wish for peace? Here, in this little piece of world, you shall have it.’ Then her sister begins to change shape, growing taller and darker until it is a reflection of her. ‘I will take on your mantle, sweet Tarasyl,’ it says in her voice. ‘Don’t fear any longer.’

‘I am not afraid,’ she manages, and as she says she feels it become truth. She is no longer frightened, she is angry; rage coils inside her, rage at her own stupidity and at the demon who now possesses her. ‘You are Greed,’ she says, eyes narrowed, ‘And I do not fear you.’

The demon-she chuckles, mirthlessly. ‘Oh, sweet Tarasyl. I am not Greed; I am Pain.’

It walks closer towards the birdcage it has created, and reaches between the bars to touch her gently on the cheek. She shrinks away, and it smiles. ‘You should always fear Pain.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos so far. I'll try to live up to expectations :)


	4. Compassion

She stays away from him, and the next few days are difficult, to say the least. She is colder, more brittle, snapping orders and barking instructions at those around her. More than once, he is brought tales from a concerned Leliana, as her demeanour becomes worse and worse.  Is this his fault? Did their discussion bring back that pain? Did he open an old and sealed wound?

No, he has to tell himself. The nightmares are getting to her. She is simply tired of them, that is all.

More than once, he is visited by the spirit boy. He is worried about her, too.

'She's being noticed,' he tells the elven mage one day. 'Pain wants her.'

'Pain?'

The spirit boy nods. 'It wanted her before, when they were running in the wild. I made it forget her.' He pauses, considering. 'I had forgotten that.'

The elf leans forward in his chair, surprise. 'What are you talking about, Cole?' The spirit shrugs.

'I am Compassion,' he says, simply. 'I know Pain. Pain is what I would be if I wasn't me. It wanted her when she was lost.' He smiles. 'I liked helping her. She was kind to me. She needed me to help keep away the pain. So I did. I made her forget, sometimes, when I could.'

Solas should not be surprised by his words; it is his nature to help others, after all. But this admission, that he knew Skye from before any of this began, sends him into stunned silence. Finally, he finds his voice.

'Cole,' he begins, shifting in his seat, 'Would you tell me more?'

Slowly, hesitantly, the spirit nods, and he reveals the tale of the frightened Dalish child, hiding in the wild forests of the Free Marches. It all comes out; the elven orphan, unable to control her powers, frightened to use it for fear of killing another, and unable to protect herself in the Dreaming. Pain, who felt her pain as if it was his own, and came to claim her. Compassion, who heard her cries and came to help, as he always did. The spirit who stayed with her, keeping away the nightmares, as best he could, to let the lost child sleep and dream.

The spirit stops, then, his eyes sad with memory.

'But then the new family found her and I was sent away.'

Clan Lavellan, Solas surmises, and learns he is correct - the two sisters are found near the summer camp, and are taken in as their own. The fledgling mage, the frightened child, learns to wield her magic, and learns how to close her mind to spirits. Spirits like Pain. Spirits like Compassion.

Compassion, who wept as his friend closed herself away from him, and buried her pain deep down in her soul, leaving it to fester in the dark.

The spirit boy is silent after that, and Solas feels a wave of pity for him. 'I'm sorry, Cole.' The boy looks at him from underneath his hat.

'You want to help her,' he answers. 'So do I.'

He looks past the mage, then, and his eyes grow wide. Someone clears their throat behind him, and Solas turns to see the Inquisitor leaning against the door. There is cold fury radiating from her, and Cole shivers.

This is not her, he can't help but think. Something isn't right.

'Solas. Cole.' Her tone is curt, sharp, and she glares at him as he rises from his chair, and makes to move towards her.

'Stop.' He freezes, her pain and anger casting an unfamiliar shadow across the face he loves so well. 'Skye,' he begins in a low voice, and the Inquisitor ignores him, looking past him at the suddenly shy spirit, who flinches at her gaze.

'It was you?' she asks. He nods, slowly.

'I didn't like it when you weren't my friend,' he says softly in answer. 'You wouldn't let me help your pain anymore.' A pause. 'So I made myself forget.'

She stares at him, and for a moment her eyes seem to soften, a chink in the armour she has woven. 'I'm sorry,' she tells him. He smiles at her. 'I want to help you. I don't like Pain.' At the mention of the word, her eyes harden again, and she stands straight, angry, furious.

Something is very, very wrong.

Every nerve of his being, every magical sense he possesses, is screaming out. _This is not right_ , they cry.

He takes a step towards her, and perhaps she sees something in his eyes. 'Pain,' she spits, 'Makes me stronger. I don't need _anyone_ to help me. ' She glances at him, and it hurts more than he would have thought. Before he can say anything, she turns on her heel and leaves, and the air is distinct with frost even after her departure.

Besides him, the spirit is motionless, frozen with shock. Then he moves, suddenly, the edges blurring as he does. 'He's here,' he hisses, shaking his head. 'Pain claimed her.'


	5. Possessed

Another sunrise passes before he decides to visit the Inquisitor again. Perhaps, this time, she will listen to reason, listen to him, and confront this pain that has changed her so.

The spirits' words of warning echo in his mind. 'Pain has claimed her,' he said, but from secret thoughts he watched her dreams, and of what little he could see she seemed safe enough.

Perhaps the spirit was wrong in his exclamations. He is still a spirit - but, he reminds himself, one who has spent years living in this reality, disconnected from the Fade, his supernatural senses dulled by the mundane. Perhaps that is it.

But it would be a rare thing indeed, for Cole to be wrong. Especially in this place. Especially in Skyhold, where it all began.

 _Stop._ This isn't helping. If anything, this feeble attempt of his at self-persuasion, to calm his mind, has only exacerbated his fears. As he climbs the steps into the tower, his sense of foreboding grow, unease coiling like a viper in the pit of his stomach. The unease is not helped by the utter silence of the tower Not a footstep heard except his own on the paved stones. Not the scratching of a quill, or the rustling of paper, or, indeed, any sign of life at all. His steps echo into the space, but no challenge at his presence is issued, and he enters her room unhindered and confused.

Then he sees her, curled on her side away from him, unmoving, tendrils of her hair blowing in the breeze that floats over the balcony outside.

'Vhenan,' he gasps. 'No!'

He reaches out, grasping a thread of magic drawn from the Fade with a hand and using its power to blur across the room, falling to his knees besides her in the next instant. 'Vhenan.'

With expert fingers, he takes her wrist, pressing gently on her veins, hoping against hope to feel her lifeblood pulse beneath his touch.

It does not come.

Cursing, he rolls her onto her back, shocked by the ashen grey tinge of her skin. Her eyes are closed, and were it not for Cole's words, and her position on the balcony, she could be sleeping. He presses his hand to her neck, desperate for a heartbeat, refusing to acknowledge the fear rising up inside him.

'Please.' It's a whisper, barely heard and the wind carries away his words before he can claim them back.

When her heart refuses to beat, a broken sob fights its way out of his throat. For an unendurable moment he is forced to contemplate the idea of a future without her. Although it is a reality he knows he will one day face, it suddenly seems distinctly imminent, and a small, selfish part of him is not ready to let her go. It frightens him.

But then, beneath his fingers, there is the faintest flutter of a pulse. He takes in a sharp breath, and as he feels another, slightly stronger than the first, fresh tears gather at the corner of his eyes. It is the sweetest sensation he has felt in many ages, and he leans down, pressing his lips to her icy skin. But this isn't some fairy tale, and she does not wake.

'She's not here.' The words are tainted with sorrow, and he knows without turning who now stands behind him.

'I didn't want to be right.' He can feels the spirit's despair, can almost taste it in the air, and he shivers as the emotion crashes over him like a rolling fog.

'Pain found her first.'

He clenches his hands, feeling his magic spark and flare inside his fists. He doesn't want to listen. Doesn't want to believe.

'This is my fault,' he whispers, more to himself than to his companion. But it's true, nonetheless. Everything that has happened to her, everything that has happened to this entire world is wrong, borne of an ill-fated choice made millennia ago. Not for the first time, he reflects on Alexius's spell, his master over time itself. If he could only learn a similar spell, or perform a similar action, then all of this, including the unconscious body that lies in front of him, might yet be saved, be changed. He could protect her before she ever needed to be protected. It's overwhelming. He hides his face in his hands for a brief moment, as the heaviness of his burden and the fear he feels for her washes over him.

'Help me.'

He needs Cole's compassion now more than ever, his mind cluttered and confused in his panic. He needs clarity, a plan, and Cole seems to understand. He steps forward, and places his hand upon the trembling shoulders of the mage.

'I will always help,' he answers softly.

'Then how do we save her?'

The spirit is silent for a moment, considering. 'We will dream,' he says simply, after a pause. 'We will dream, and find her, and then we can save her.'


	6. Advisors

Together, elf and spirit move the girl from the cold balcony floor, laying her gently to rest atop the pillows and quilts that cover her bed. As he holds her hand, he sends Cole to find the advisors. Her pulse is faint, but steady, now, and it's a comforting reminder that all is not yet lost. Her magic is weakened, flickering like a candle flame in the breeze, but it is defiant, and he sends a thread of his own magic to join with hers, layering it with solidarity and love. His Tarasyl will not be so easily defeated, not by Pain, and the desire to slip into her dreams and join the fight is becoming overwhelming.

But the advisors must be informed first. They have a right to, after all; should the unthinkable happen and she is lost, the fate of the Inquisition will once again rest on their weary shoulders.

There are footsteps on the stone stairs, and as they echo into the room he stands, regretfully releasing her hand from his. He waits, ready to explain the situation to the panicked humans who enter the Inquisitor's chambers.

The Nightingale is the first, and he sees her fury at once. It simmers, below the surface, anger that she failed to see this coming, frustration that she failed to solve the puzzle in time. Even now, she tries to remain neutral, unreadable, but he knows all too well how to play a part, and he can see her concern, and how deep it truly runs.

The Ambassador doesn't try and hide her feelings. She is shocked, frightened for the Inquisitor, but, like any good diplomat, he can see part of her mind is already whirring, thinking about how to frame this latest unfortunate event in a favourable light, should the need arise. It doesn't help that Skye is both a mage and an elf, but when has that ever stopped her?

The Commander is pale, shaking. He knows of his ordeal in the Fereldan Circle, and part of him feels pity for the man that stands before him, reliving a nightmare. Cole is standing close to him, and his eyes are wide, haunted by the strength of Cullen's fear. His hands are shaking, too.

'She can be saved,' Solas tells the advisors. 'All is not yet lost.'

Carefully, slowly, he explains his plan, hoping that the advisors won't kill him where he stands. What he proposes is dangerous, and deadly, but too much is at stake. There is no time for risk, he reasons; she must be saved.

They seem unwilling to understand, or accept his plan, and his frustration finally comes to a head when the Commander shakes his head. He understands their fear, their trepidation - for those with no magic, it is frightening, but that they seem almost resigned to the fate of his vhenan is something he cannot accept, nor allow.

'Tell the truth.' The spirit speaks, and his frightened face speaks more clearly than his own minced words. 'She's running out of time.'

His shoulders sag, and his heart aches in his chest as he tells them what he truly wishes to say. 'I cannot lose her.' He looks to the Ambassador, always one to wear her heart on her sleeve. 'Let me try and save her. I will never forgive myself if I lose her, too.'

His voice is ragged, breaking with despair, and in his pleading the _too_  slips out without intention. No one, save the Nightingale, seems to notice. Her eyes gleam as she files away the information, but for once he pays no heed to his mistake. It is a price he will gladly pay if he is allowed to save her, to see her smile one more time.

The advisors are considering his words, and Cole beams as slowly, each nod, Cullen looking at the unconscious Skye with a look not unlike his own gaze. Cole beams. 'I will stay and help Solas.'

They stay for only a moment more, before leaving, each casting a final, worried glance over the inert form on the bed. They know that Solas is the best chance Skye has. If anyone can save her from Pain, it will be him.

He will not fail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tarasyl is the elven word for Sky - in this case, Skye's elven name.


	7. Tarasyl

He prepares to enter the Fade with unusual care. There are wards placed about the room, at the doors and windows, about himself and his heart. The Commander has ordered what Templars remain within the Inquisition to guard the tower. If their quest is unsuccessful, the triumph of the demon will be short lived. A grotesque comfort.

He turns to her, pressing his lips to her forehead. 'Ar lath ma, vhenan,' he whispers against her. Perhaps, next time, she will waken at his touch.

Cole is agitated. Returning to the Fade, even willingly, is no small task for him, and the fear of what he might become permeates the air around him. 'Solas.' The elf straightens, and goes to his friend, calming his fears, helping him breathe. He is comforted by the bravery of the smile he is offered in return.

Finally, everything is ready. There is nothing more to do but sleep. He settles himself, reclining on the bed next to her, and rests his hands atop his stomach. Even with his current goal, part of him reaches eagerly for the dreams, and it feels like a mere moment has passed when he awakens in the Fade.

He finds himself in a replica of the Inquisitor's tower room. All appears to be in order, but outside the ring of mountains that surround Skyhold have vanished. Instead, there is a thick green fog that surrounds the room, and tendrils of the mist creep like ominous ivy into the chamber. There is a ripple in the smog, and Cole appears from the balcony, walking into the room towards him. He seems to shimmer, his outline blurring with the essence of the Fade, and he shakes his head, troubled. 'This feels wrong.'

He looks to Solas, who stands from the bed. 'Once we have found her, this will be over. I promise.' Cole watches him a moment before he nods in agreement.

Quickly, he checks himself, and finds no fault. Satisfied that he has crossed into the Fade successfully, he turns, looking for the stairs, and stumbles back a step in surprise as he sees the still form of a sleeping child.

She sleeps where his heart should be, and goes barefaced, with pointed ears. Her dark hair, already long, is a wild mass of curls, and his lips part in instinctual horror as he sees the fresh, ugly wound that slices into her lip. It is a mass of blood, and scarring, and he closes his eyes, unable to see his heart so wretched.

Cole has moved to her, kneeling beside her and tracing the scar with a gentle finger in some kind of macabre fascination. She wakes at his touch, and as she sees the pale boy kneeling at her side she squeals in fright, scrambling away. She turns her head, sees Solas standing on the other side, and cowers. She is so frightened, and his heart clenches at the sight. She is like a halla fawn, all long limbed and wide, frightened eyes, but it is her.

'Tarasyl.' It is but a whisper, and she glances at him at the mention of her name. Her lip quivers.

'Please, don't hurt me.' It hurts that a part of her - for it is a part of her he is now talking to - thinks him capable of such a feat.

Cole sits beside her, then, and takes the child's tiny hands in his, gently.

'I want to help you, little one,' he whispers. 'Shall we make Pain go away again?' She looks at him, closely, and her mouth falls open in wonder.

'I remember you,' she tells him, and Cole smiles so brightly it seems to illuminate his very being.

'I remember you, too,' he answers, and then he looks at Solas. 'Do you remember him?'

She puzzles over his face for a long moment. 'Maybe,' she decides eventually. 'You are important to me, I think.'

He nods, smiling despite the shard of ice her words sent to his heart. If she has already forgotten him… How much of her mind has Pain already claimed? Cole can sense his rising panic and he helps the elven child to stand.

'We are looking for you,' he explains. 'We want to help.' The child looks up at him, and then she points to the thick green fog that is now creeping up from the stairwell.

'I'm down there, somewhere,' she says quietly. 'But it's dark. I was too scared to go and look.' Cole takes her hand again.

'We will not leave you alone this time,' he promises, and after a heartbeat she nods.

Together, the three dreamers walk down the steps, into the mist of the Fade, and they disappear as it swallows them whole.


	8. Memory

They emerge from the tower, and he is unsurprised to see the great hall of Skyhold. It is not as he remembers it, however, but an altered reflection of what exists. Vines are twined around the chair on the dais, and cover the windows, straining the light and causing strange shadows to be cast. Moss covers many of the stone bricks. Trees and plants have bloomed and grown between the cracks and missing pieces of the paved floor, and grass grows freely, almost to knee height.

Pain is claiming what she remembers, and Skyhold is the first place to suffer. It's almost beautiful, he supposes. Nature, finally reclaiming that which fought against its grip for so long.

Tarasyl whimpers, breaking the silence as she stares at a cluster of figures in the centre of the hall, and Cole turns away to comfort her as Solas, fascinated and horrified in equal measure, takes a step closer to the scene that appears frozen in time. It sends a dark shiver down his spine.

The scene is a massacre, a human attack on a small group of elves. The woman, collapsed on the ground, has a bright red gash at her throat, and beads of blood trickle over her skin, motionless in a frozen homage to her death. A knife is buried in her side, and blood runs along the blade, dripping onto the ground. It is the one movement in the frozen moment, and the sound of the blood hitting the floor provides an unearthly heartbeat as he studies the rest of the scene.

The man seems to live, for now. A human is straddling him, his hands reaching for his throat. He notes the absence of a knife, and assumes this is the shem that killed the woman. There is desperation in the elf's eyes, and rage in the human's, and tension hangs between them like a heavy rope.

There is sound behind him, and he turns, seeing Tarasyl step towards a shimmering space in the air. It is her height and size, and as she fills the space something seems to click. The scene erupts into life, and suddenly all Solas can hear is screaming, and all he can smell is the sharp, metallic tang of blood. There's a child screaming in the distance, and he turns to see a child, younger than Tarasyl, yet similar in appearance, being dragged away by a second human.

 _'Mamae! Bae!_ ' She's calling for them, shrieking in terror as the human pulls at her hair. Her voice catches as she is jerked across the threshold of the hall, and she threatens to vanish into the thickening mist.

Tarasyl is motionless, terrified, and she does nothing but stare, mutely, at the scene that is unfolding before her. Blood is spattered on her forehead, across her cheeks, and the gaping wound bleeds down her chin and onto her tunic. Her father is grappling with the human who threatens to end his life, and he cries out to his daughter.

 _'Tarasyl!'_ Her name is screamed, then, by both father and sister. In this fragment of memory, there is a sudden echo of magic, and Solas turns to see Tarasyl burning, crackles of pure energy dancing around her. The recognition of her magic burns away her fear, and in this moment she looks blissful.

Thunder rumbles around the great hall, or an echo of it, and he watches her call the storm, and mould it to her will. Lightning strikes, falling like rain, searing into the ground until the earth is scorched and blackened. Her sister scrambles away, runs back towards her, and the human who had her crumples to his knees as lightning strikes him in the heart. She focuses her hands at the man who, even now, is crouching over her father, trying to choke the life from him. From her hands, a final bolt emerges, and it - it misses the human.

Instead, the magic reaches for the struggling elf, and Tarasyl falls to her knees, watching with horrified eyes as her father shudders and seizes, convulsing as the electricity courses through him. He slumps suddenly, unmoving, onto the ground, and as the spell returns to her, Tarasyl covers her mouth with her bloodstained hands.

The human has pushed himself away from her father, has watched as sparks danced around the dying elf, and now he scrambles to his feet, advancing upon her slowly. His eyes are fearful at her power, but the fear and anger he contains is no match for the grief that now fuels the child in front of him.

She screams, suddenly, and even Solas is forced to stagger back a step. Her voice is magnified, primal magic thrumming behind each beat of her wordless heartbreak. The human halts just a pace away, and he crumples to his knees, shaking as her magic seeks him out and crushes him. His skin splits, blood streaming from every orifice and his skin is stained red by the time he finally breathes his last. The body falls to the ground, and remains there, in a pool of blood.

The harrowing memory stills, then, and Tarasyl seems to come away from the memory. She gets to her feet, eyes red, and Cole rushes to her, comforting her and stroking her hair as she cries.

He lets them be, his own mind still reeling from the sheer horror of the scene, and waits until Tarasyl recovers. With a wave of her hand, she turns what remains of the memory into a fine silver mist.

'We should hurry.' Her voice is thin, strained, but she begins to walk, resolute. 'You're running out of time.'


	9. Chains

Still holding Cole's hand, Tarasyl leads the trio through the great doors and out into Skyhold's courtyard. It is how he remembers it, and yet not so; the great stone walls remain intact, but within them is a small thicket of trees. Ivy grows along the remnants of the castle, and halla are roaming freely. There are aravels resting, dotted amongst the undergrowth; the sails are ancient, tattered, dusty with disuse.

Faceless Dalish, with tattoos tracing their skin, are roaming around what he can only call a camp, each moving with precision, with purpose. There are children playing out of sight, and their laughter seems to echo into the sky. Cole turns his head, searching for them, and Tarasyl squeezes his hand.

'They're what I remember. It's not really here.' Her voice is soft, and her words are spoken with a sad smile. She raises her hand, and points to a campfire. There are women tending to it, but the child points at one of them. The woman is following the others, her head bowed, her stature demure. She stands facing away from the dreamers, but Tarasyl focuses on her with a piercing stare.

'That's me,' she says, surprised. 'I don't want to leave?' Her breath escapes in a soft hiss as another of the women turns around, and the onlookers see her face, and the bright collar of red around her throat.

' _Mamae_.'

Cole seizes her by the shoulders and turns her to face him, his blue eyes intent. 'It isn't her. You know that. Let it hurt.'

Solas shifts uncomfortably away from the duo beside him, instead focusing on the woman who follows her dead mother like a lamb. Her hair is tied, twisted into a braid that follows the curve of her spine. She is unlike nothing he has seen; quiet, reserved, defeated. She seems to move willingly, until he notices the chains bound about her wrists. Even from the distance, he can see the links of smoke and ash and shadow, and as he watches they seem to glow briefly.

'We should go to her,' he says softly. Cole shakes his head, gesturing to Tarasyl. She is trembling at his side, fear showing openly in her eyes.

'She's frightened. She needs me too.'

So be it. Solas nods once, then begins to descend what remains of the ruined steps, picking his way through the rubble, moving towards her. Her head is still bowed, and now he can feel the eyes of the faceless Dalish watching him with unnatural stillness. Thick fog begins to creep towards him, and entwines around his legs. He stumbles at the strength of it, and it is a physical effort to reach her side.

'Vhenan.'

She looks up at his words, and turns around, disbelief and hope showing on her features in equal measure. 'Solas?'

He nods, and tears fill her eyes as she moves towards him. He holds his arms out, and catches her as she barrels into his chest, holding her close in a moment of relief. He can feel her shuddering breaths like they are his own; and perhaps they are, for suddenly he can feel wetness on his cheeks. They stand there a moment, each taking comfort in the other, but the air itself feels hostile, and an angry buzz begins in the back of his skull.

Perhaps she feels it too, for she pulls away, and resumes her position by her mother. As she moves, the buzzing quietens, and he follows, examining her chains with an expert eye. 'What workmanship are those?'

'Pain. He's here because of Adamant. He is Nightmare's sentinel.'

There's a note of old and faded grief in her voice, and he reaches to examine the manacles.

She flinches away from him, shaking her head as she moves. 'You can't. It hurts if you try to remove them.'

Her smoky chains seem to shine with sound, like a piercing glimmer he hears in a corner of his mind. 'I will free you from those chains, my heart.'

The corner of her mouth lifts in a tiny smile, but it is as if she is beaming to him. Someone taps him on the shoulder, and he turns, starting with shock as he recognises the blue eyes and greying hair, and the ring of blood around her mother's neck.

'What are you doing here, Pride?' It is said as if they know one another, with easy familiarity; but he knows the feeling of a spirit, and he knows that Pain is wearing her mother's face.

'You stole my heart,' he responds lightly. 'I came to find her.'

Pain laughs, an ancient, weary chuckle which sends a prickle down his spine. 'Do you think you can take so easily what was promised me? Foolish Pride. Yet to understand the consequences of your actions.' She lifts a crooked finger, beckoning towards Skye, and she cries out in pain as the chains glow bright with heat.

'Vhenan!' He snarls at Pain, even as Skye falls to her knees, shuddering. 'Let her be! My heart…'

She whimpers. 'Solas, it hurts.'

Her admission wounds him, and he shakes his head, going to his knees besides her and cupping her frightened face with his hands. 'Just a little longer, my love.'

Pain shakes her head. 'She won't last. Neither of you will.'

Her eyes are wide, and he shakes his head, summoning every ounce of courage and willpower he possesses. 'We _will_ survive this, vhenan. Var lath vir suledin. It will keep us strong.'

Pain cackles. 'You cause nothing but pain, and distress, _Pride_. Do not promise what you cannot keep. It was you who so thoughtfully led me to her, after all. It was you who led me to so much delicious suffering. I should thank you, really.'

He flinches at Pain's words, and the demon smiles.

'What if I could make it better? What if I could give you everything you want?'

His limbs feel heavy, and the demon's voice is suddenly warm, and soothing. It is a whisper in his ear, and Solas can feel his hands dropping to his sides, immobile.

'I could bring back Elvhenan, right here, right now. You could have your People - and her, too. A happy ending for all, would you not say?'

With a snap of her fingers, Pain sends the mist to reclaim Skyhold, and from the fog grows crystal spires, marbled paths and buildings, carved golden runes glowing within the stone. It is as if every memory he has of what he once knew is before him. Beside him, Skye gasps with wonder. It is the first true image he has shown her of what was before, and her exclamation of delight brings both joy and dread to his heart.

'Look around you, Solas,' the demon continues. 'You could stay forever, the both of you. Live in what should have been yours! Live in this little world and you will forget all your troubles. You can be happy.'

He's struggling to respond. There is magic in Pain's words, and it oozes into his mind like honey, gently flooding away any disagreement, and he feels himself falling to his knees. The demon's words make sense. This would be so easy. And his heart would be here, with him, together.

'No.'

The voice comes from behind him, and he watches as Cole and Tarasyl, still hand in hand, walk into view. The child looks to Compassion, and he nods, releasing her hand. Tarasyl moves to stand in front of Skye, and touches her gently on the cheek.

'We can be brave,' she says softly, and in a bright flash of silver, dissolves, merging into Skye's form until all that is left is a gleam of brightness in her eyes. Cole glares at Pain, who moves away a step, unease beginning to show on its face.

'You will not hurt them. Never again.'

It feels like water is poured over his head with the spirit's words, and Solas gasps, feeling returning to his legs, and his mind becoming clear. Besides him, Skye's chains dissolve in a starburst of colour.

The spirit looks at her. 'Only you can fight him now, Tarasyl. Show him who you really are. Show him Skye.'


End file.
